


Good Practice

by helloshepard



Series: adventures in statistical handholding [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Cyberverse
Genre: Bad Flirting, Crack Treated Seriously, Excessive Drinking, M/M, Prowl is Allergic to Feelings, Soundwave is an Alcoholic, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-27 23:19:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16711915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helloshepard/pseuds/helloshepard
Summary: “Come here often?”Prowl didn’t look up from his drink; a unique blend of Energon and back-alley grit that stuck in the back of your mouth. Maccadam’s special.Undeterred, the mech got closer, which was new. New, and entirely unwelcome.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The 'kirafisu' is an Americanized spelling of キラーフィッシュ, or Killer Fish, since I don't remember if there are fish on Cybertron, that was the closest fish on the tf wiki. So 'drinks like a kirafisu' = 'drinks like a fish' = drinks too much alcohol. 
> 
> As you can probably tell, I've taken too many liberties with this fic to count, but it was an idea that struck me at 11pm last night and somehow turned into the monstrosity you see here.
> 
> 11/23: slight edits to fix formatting, as the strikethroughs in the draft didn't import. Hopefully some of the sentences make a bit more sense now.

“Come here often?”

Prowl didn’t look up from his drink; a unique blend of Energon and back-alley grit that stuck in the back of his mouth. Maccadam’s special.

Undeterred, the mech got _closer,_ which was new. New, and entirely unwelcome.

Normally the decals on Prowl’s shoulder were more than enough to deter any and all company, especially in this part of Iacon.

The mech gave Mac the universal handwave for _one more,_ and a moment later, there was a cube in the mech’s hand, and then he was sitting next to Prowl.

Prowl didn’t bother concealing his irritation. He was here to _drink,_ and to keep an optic on his idiot friend Orion, who was making eyes at some ~~criminal~~ gladiator on the other side of the room. Orion had it in his head that Megatron just wanted to be _friends._ Prowl wondered how people who _weren’t_ paranoid functioned.

From across the bar, Mac was eavesdropping on the exchange with far too much interest, diligently pretending to clean a batch of discarded cubes.

“Can I help you?”

“Come here often?”

Prowl sighed, and Mac laughed. He wondered if he could convince Orion to choose another watering hole, preferably one free of mechs trying to annoy Prowl when he was just doing his job.

“You know I do.”

“Not as often as I’d like.”

The mech’s backup dancers were finishing their number, gyrating and moving awkwardly with the flow of the music. They hadn’t had much time to practice this particular routine. Prowl had seen them putting it together in a back alley before he walked in. They had come in a cycle later, just after he had given Orion the all-clear.

“Soundwave.”

Prowl ignored the proffered hand. Undeterred, Soundwave leaned against the bar and stared at him instead, red visor glinting in the strange bokeh lights that illuminated the refinery. The backup dancers finished their number and trundled offstage, arguing about who had done what bit of the routine wrong.

Pointedly ignoring the stare, Prowl finished the cube and requested another. Mac slid it into his hands and Prowl took an experimental sip. Less gritty than the first one. Mac had probably flushed the dispenser between this cube and the last.

“You know he’s not going to give up.” Mac said, giving up the illusion of not eavesdropping. “Might as well talk.”

_“No.”_

* * *

Prowl managed to avoid Soundwave for exactly two decacycles, mostly by trading his Watch Orion Make Eyes at a ~~Criminal~~ Gladiator duties with Jazz whenever Soundwave and his entourage were slated to perform. It was good, Prowl told himself, to switch up the backup Orion brought with him to meet Megatron; he held no doubts Megatron had one or two of his own cronies in the bar whenever he and Orion met. Just in case things went south. Who was Prowl to do anything differently?

So he’d bribed Mac for the schedule.

Sue him.

And then Jazz pulled out at the last minute, citing ‘really important meeting with Halogen, might lead to Orion getting a meeting with the Senate’, and then Prowl was back in Maccadam’s, trying valiantly to ignore Soundwave staring at him from the stage.

And then Soundwave ditched his crew _(again,_ Prowl noted with irritation) and sauntered up to the bar.

“Come here often?”

Prowl ignored him, studying the black grit as it swirled in the unopened cube. Mac really needed to get a new dispenser.

“You know,” Soundwave accepted the cube from Mac, mouthplate sliding open as he took a long, _long_ drink. “It wasn’t easy getting your buddy that meeting.”

_“What.”_

Smugness radiated off Soundwave like a particularly bad case of cosmic rust.

“Halogen owed me a favor. Several favors.” Soundwave finished off the cube and slid it across the bar. “Still. It’s not easy getting a private meeting with a Senator after-hours.”

“You set up the meeting,” Prowl said, not entirely sure he believed what he was hearing. “Between Jazz and Senator Halogen.”

“Yep.”

“Why.”

 _“Prowl,”_ Soundwave said, in that obnoxiously light and soothing voice he used way too much, and he _knew_ Prowl’s name, which was wrong on so many levels because Orion and Jazz were the only ones here who knew his name. Not even _Mac_ knew his name, and Mac knew practically everything. “How else was I supposed to get you back here?”

“You set up the meeting,” Prowl repeated. “Between Jazz and Senator Halogen. So that you could see me again.”

Soundwave shrugged helplessly, and Prowl was certain that behind the mask, the mech was grinning.

“Your friend Orion needs an audience with the Senate,” Soundwave was saying, and that was a whole other can of scraplets, because no-one besides Mac knew Prowl and Orion were here together. Mac handed him another cube, and Prowl shot the bartender a glare for good measure. “Seeing you again was a coincidence. A nice one. But a coincidence.”

“I think you’re lying.”

There was that shrug again, infuriating and helpless. Soundwave polished off the cube. _Primus,_ the mech drank like a Kirafisu.

“Is that so wrong?”

“How do you know my name?” Prowl demanded.

Soundwave inclined his head to the booth in the far corner. Orion and Megatron were oblivious to the rest of the world, wrapped up in whatever grandiose scheme to save Cybertronian society they had come up with this week.

_Oh._

“Orion isn’t terribly subtle,” Soundwave accepted another cube and uncapped it, adding the lid to the growing pile on his side of the bar. “For the last decacycle, it’s been ‘Prowl this’ or ‘Prowl that’ or ‘Prowl wouldn’t like that’ whenever he and Megatron get together.”

“You make it a point to eavesdrop on private conversations?”

“You don’t?”

“No,” Prowl lied. “I don’t. Are you even a...whatever it is you do up there?”

He _was_ actually a dancer-slash-DJ-slash-artist, Prowl knew. Not because Prowl _cared,_ but he was as much of a stalker as Soundwave apparently was, and it _was_ good practice to know who his obnoxious barmates were. It was _especially_ good practice to know the obnoxious barmates whose potential threat levels had just increased tenfold.

“Aren’t artists allowed to take steps to improve society?”

“By traipsing around with a gladiator? Isn’t that a little beneath you?”

Soundwave added another lid to his pile.

“You are traipsing around with a data clerk.”

“I’m not setting up meetings with _Senators.”_

“Because they all hate you.”

Prowl whipped around, a demand of ‘ _how do you know that’_ forming in his voicebox, but Soundwave just shrugged again.

“I don’t have as much access to databanks as you. But I make do.”

Prowl popped the lid off his cube and tossed it onto Soundwave’s pile, then handed the cube to Soundwave. He sighed.

“So. What _exactly_ do you know about me?”

Soundwave grinned.

* * *

It got better, after that.

Sort of.

Jazz thanked Prowl profusely when Prowl offered to switch their Watch Orion Make Eyes at a ~~Criminal~~ Gladiator shifts again. Prowl sensed they had reached some type of understanding, and he was loathe to question Soundwave’s _lack_ of questions that he had no easy answer to. Soundwave’s awful attempts at flirting were much preferable to questions.

Prowl wouldn’t go so far as to say they were _friends,_ because he was Prowl, and Prowl didn’t have any friends. Acquaintances. Close acquaintances. Bonding over supervising hotheaded idealists.

“Saw you on the news,” Soundwave said, a welcome change from his standard _‘Come here often?’._ Except, Prowl’s picture and single quote (“No comment.”) hadn’t been on the front page. Or in the first hundred pages. Orion had sent him the article that morning, the picture and single quote thoughtfully outlined, as though Prowl might miss it, since it was on page 119 sandwiched between an advertisement selling gently-used CUBEs and an opinion piece detailing everything wrong with the low-budget doc _Agents of the Cosmos: Fact or Fiction?._

“You been stalking me?”

“Looking,” Soundwave replied easily, finishing off his third drink of the night. “You’re a popular topic of conversation in the Senate. Mostly they argue about how to take you out without causing a ruckus.”

“How nice.”

Soundwave fidgeted with the lid, spinning it across the bar’s surface with a pointed digit. It skidded into the pile. Behind them, Orion and Megatron’s argument was slowly but steadily getting louder and more animated.

“Your buddies gonna be a problem?” Mac asked, sliding another drink over to Soundwave.

Soundwave shrugged.

“Sometimes change isn’t quiet.”

Prowl snorted into his drink. Mac laughed.

“That might be the smartest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

“I am full of smart things,” Soundwave said. “Science. Culture. Music.”

A crash had both of them whipping around. Megatron had thrown a half-full Energon cube, smashing it against a wall already stained with enough fluids to send a forensics team home sobbing.

“I’ll go,” Soundwave said, raising his hands in deference as Mac glowered. “See you out there, buddy.”

“I’m not your buddy,” Prowl muttered into his drink.

* * *

And then Prowl saw less and less of Soundwave.

Soundwave’s backup dancers were always there, and Prowl couldn’t help but wonder if Soundwave had gotten promoted to whatever position a dancer-slash-DJ-slash-artist could hold among the Decepticon faction. He certainly wasn’t performing at any of his usual venues; in addition to Maccadam’s, the Polyhex Entertainment Center hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him in several decacycles.

It wasn’t like Prowl was checking up on Soundwave because he _cared._ It was good practice to know what a potential enemy was up to. But despite Prowl’s best efforts, Soundwave had all but vanished.

Prowl kept coming to Maccadam’s to keep tabs on Orion, though the meetings were getting shorter and shorter, more prone to end in harsh words and either Prowl or whichever flunkie was on Megatron Duty for the night needing to go drag their respective idealist out before Mac got _really_ mad.

Tonight was one of those nights.  As usual, Prowl was on his second drink by the time Orion arrived, and Megatron was uncharacteristically late.

Prowl figured today’s flunkies were the two Seekers huddled in the corner, sharing a cube of Mac’s cheapest stuff and gawking at Orion. But half the patrons were gawking at Orion as he fumed, muttering epithets and snippets of a meditation disc Windblade enjoyed in equal measure. He doubted the Seekers would be of much help if Megatron _really_ got angry.

“You’ll see him again,” Mac said, handing Prowl another cube. Prowl looked at his half-full cube and squinted at Mac, who stared back innocently.

“Who?”

“Your buddy.”

“I don’t have a ‘buddy’.”

The door burst open. Prowl half turned to look as Megatron stormed in. Trailing behind him, looking entirely too pleased with himself, was Soundwave.

Soundwave brushed past Megatron and picked up the cube Mac had left on the counter.

“Come here often?”

Prowl _hated,_ absolutely _hated,_ that his faceplates twitched.

“Haven’t seen you in a while.”

Soundwave drained the cube and slid it over to Mac.

“Been busy,” Soundwave said. “Noticed you were checking up on me. I’m flattered.”

Prowl rolled his optics and made a mental note to strangle the receptionist at the Polyhex Entertainment Center the next time he saw the mech.

Behind them, Megatron and Orion were already shouting. The Seekers Prowl had noticed earlier paid for their drink and hurried out.

“I wanted to ask in person.”

Prowl sighed.

“If this is about where I get my polish, or which field I was sparked in--”

“No,” Soundwave said. “I was going to ask you to join us. The Decepticons.”

“Primus. Aren’t we all Decepticons already? Did I miss a memo?”

Soundwave leaned closer, close enough that Prowl could smell the wax on his shoulders. Aerosoul Supreme, his mind unhelpfully supplied.

“The ideals Orion envisions are far different than the ones that will provide the catalyst for change.”

 _That_ got a small smile.

Soundwave stood a little straighter, and Prowl could tell he was practically beaming.

“You got that right,” Prowl said.

Megatron was shouting now. Orion’s response was drowned out by Mac bellowing at the both of them to _take it outside._

“So.”

“You’re right,” Prowl repeated. “And I’ve got to be the one to make sure Orion sees that.”

“That’s a no,” Soundwave seemed more perturbed than angry. “A no?”

“That is a no,” Prowl affirmed. Behind them, Megatron bellowed for Soundwave.

Soundwave tossed a handful of shanix on the counter.

“I’ll be seeing you, Prowl.” And then he had the nerve to squeeze Prowl’s shoulder with a stupid, Aerosoul Supreme-scented hand, sounding more sincere than Prowl thought possible.

“Soundwave.”

Prowl shrugged off the hand.

“Hey,” Soundwave said. “That’s the first time you’ve said my name.”

And then he was gone, slipping past the crowd and following Megatron into the night.

* * *

Below them, Iacon burned.

It had been burning for a decacycle now. The Autobot propaganda machine accused the Decepticons of setting the Energon tunnels below ablaze. Funnily enough, the Decepticon propaganda machine accused the Autobots of the same thing.

Yesterday, three mechs had known who started the fire. Today, that number was down to one: Prowl of Petrex, busy disassembling his rifle as he waited for his scouts to return.

They had captured someone. Someone _important,_ important enough to not risk a name in their encrypted communications.

He didn’t bother cleaning the Energon drying on the floor. Logistically, they had passed the point of taking prisoners a vorn ago. Optimus danced around the issue of dwindling Energon and lack of guards with all the grace of a rabid petro-rabbit, so Prowl had taken charge of the issue, ordering all prisoner transport to be redirected to his command center.

Prowl wasn’t in the mood for another argument about morality and the inherent rightness of their cause being tainted by killing prisoners. He calculated he had another decacycle before Optimus caught on. Not nearly as long as Prowl needed to put a dent in the Decepticon population, but it was better than nothing.

His comm beeped. He spared a glance at the communication device and snapped the rifle barrel back into place.

The door slid open. Prowl didn’t look up as his scouts dragged the prisoner in. He could hear the low rattles of the Decepticon’s intake struggling to pump the fuel leaking out of a chassis, smelled the Decepticon’s charred armor where shots had pierced shielding and found their target.

“Leave him.”

“Sir!”

 _“Leave him.”_ He would be getting a court martial for the death of this Decepticon and the dozens who had come before him, but the Autobots had already lost two good soldiers. He wasn’t in the mood to lose ~~kill~~ any more Autobots today.

“Understood.”

He heard his scouts let go of the prisoner. Plating collided with the solid floor and Prowl heard the sick squelch of the Decepticon coughing up what little Energon remained in his tanks.

The Decepticon struggled to his feet.  Ragged ex-vents filled the stiff silence. Prowl gave his rifle a once-over.

Then:

“Come here often?”

Prowl groaned.

_Primus._


	2. Chapter 2

Soundwave leaned against the wall, looking entirely too pleased for a mech with a massive hole in his chest and a high-powered rifle aimed at his helm.

“Been a while, Prowl.”

Prowl narrowed his optics, tempted to just take the shot and put an end to Soundwave and his schemes, to his voice that hadn’t changed _at all_ since he had last seen the mech at Maccadam’s.

“Don’t tell me you got captured on purpose,” Prowl said, instead.

Soundwave laughed, still obnoxiously cavalier about the entire situation. He coughed out another wad of Energon. It landed on the floor with a soft _splat._

“I did not,” Soundwave said, sinking down to the floor in a shivering heap of armor and spilled Energon. “Your scouts are talented. Nothing compared to _you,_ of course.”

“Then I suppose it’s a good thing you’ve never actually had to fight me.”

Soundwave shrugged. Prowl rolled his optics.

“I’ll make a bet with you,” Soundwave mumbled.

“I don’t think you’re in any position to be making demands.”

Soundwave grinned, and Prowl hated that grin more than anything in the entire universe, up to and including Megatron himself.

“We could change positions if you like,” Soundwave said. “The cuffs’d look good on you.”

“Is _everything_ a joke to you?”

“Not everything.” Soundwave’s voice glitched, and for one awful, wonderful second, Prowl thought the mech had succumbed to Energon loss and joined the Allspark. “You? Me? You and me? Not a joke.”

“I could just kill you. Right now. And I would recharge just fine.”

“I know you would,” Soundwave said. “Here’s the bet. If I survive until the morning--”

“I distinctly recall not agreeing to this.”

“--I’ll join the Autobots.”

Soundwave’s smile at Prowl’s expression was somehow even more obnoxiously chipper than before.

“And if you don’t?”

“I will die a happy mech.”

Prowl rolled his optics.

“Primus. _Primus,_ Soundwave!” Prowl was pacing now, ranting and raving with a weapon clutched in his hands.

If only Tumbler could see him now. “You are absolutely _infuriating.”_

“Only with you, Prowl.” Soundwave’s voice glitched again, and his frame went slack. “Only with you.”

Soundwave was still functioning. Prowl could hear ragged ex-vents and a damaged fuel pump struggling fruitlessly to process the Energon as it leaked out of the mech’s body.

Prowl swore, then swore again for good measure. He strode over to Soundwave, half-conscious of the danger of approaching someone as dangerous as Soundwave and hauled the mech up by the cuffs. At least the passkey was safe, stored in a secret compartment in his wrist.

Soundwave didn’t respond. Prowl wasn’t sure if he was upset or furious at the lack of a ruse, but he dragged Soundwave to the unused berth.

It would be kinder to just shoot the mech and be done with it. A mercy, really. One less thorn in the Autobot’s side.

“You promised.”

Soundwave’s voice barely qualified as a whisper.

“I did not promise _anything.”_

And now he was holding Prowl’s hand like some kind of lovesick hatchling barely out of his pod.

His grip was weaker than Prowl remembered, all soft and trembling, as though one of them was about to crumple and fade away.

“Got time for a drink?”

“You’re delusional,” Prowl said.

Soundwave offered no reply.

 

* * *

  
Prowl’s command center was set on the outskirts of Iacon, far enough from the flame to afford a few more days before he needed to retreat and rendevouz with Prime in Kaon.

The fire had practically negated the need for air strikes, so when the former apartment complex shuddered as a high-impact shot slammed into the duracrete below, Prowl was pulled rather ungracefully out of his work-induced stupor.

Instinctively, he looked to the berth. Soundwave was still there. Still alive, though the flow of Energon trickling out of his chassis had stopped completely.

And he was _awake,_ awake and watching Prowl with unfeigned interest.

“You’re pretty when you work.”

Prowl didn’t bother with a reply. He opened the top desk drawer and shoved aside datapads and and a obscenely elegant sidearm that probably hadn’t been used since the Gilded Age until he found the medkit. Prowl threw it at Soundwave with far more force than was strictly necessary.

Soundwave caught it easily, popping the undamaged seal open and started rummaging around with far more grace than Prowl thought possible, especially since he was still cuffed.

Prowl forced himself _not_ to watch as Soundwave injected the med-grade stim and went to work applying patches and makeshift welds.

He managed to finish exactly one report before looking up again.

Soundwave was peeling off the remains of his faceplate, dropping the shattered gray metal to the floor piece by piece.

“Is that really the best use of your time?”

Soundwave grinned, and the action opened up the badly-applied weld on his mouth. A thin trickle of Energon dripped down his mouth, coming to rest at the dip of his chin.  

“You could come over and help me.”

Prowl ignored him.

For exactly a cycle, Prowl was able to focus on the next report. Jazz had a hunch there was a Decepticon strike force planning to hit Kimia within the vorn. Inevitable court martial-slash-execution or no, Prowl was not planning to just hand the station over to the Decepticons. Exhaustion scratched at the edges of his consciousness; it had been far too long since he recharged, but to be fair, he _had_ planned to rest after executing this last prisoner. Not handing him a medkit.

He could feel Soundwave’s optics on him, following his hands as he typed. The silence was palpable, broken only by Soundwave’s stuttering fuel pump.

Primus. Even Soundwave’s injuries were obnoxious.

Prowl code-locked the datapad and set it in the drawer. He stood, feeling struts protest at the abrupt movement, and walked to Soundwave.

He grabbed the medkit and pushed Soundwave’s hands away, fumbling blindly for Soundwave’s fuel pump. Soundwave winced as Prowl brushed past the gaping wound to access the manual shutoff, but relaxed as Prowl disengaged the failing protocols, rerouting Energon away from the pump and damaged tank.

“You think I was too obvious?”

Prowl had no idea what he was talking about. He valiantly attempted to ignore Soundwave, which was difficult, since he was elbow-deep in the mech’s innards.

“Could’ve been more subtle,” Soundwave said, moving to rest his arms above his head, looking far too vulnerable and comfortable for Prowl’s liking. “Started with encrypted messages on datapads. Moved on to secret meetings behind Maccadam’s.” 

Prowl wasn’t sure if he was hearing it right. Perhaps he had slipped past exhaustion and was in the middle of a delusion.

“Are you apologizing for _flirting?”_

“Wasn’t sure if you knew the meaning of that word.” Soundwave shifted position, allowing Prowl easier access to his chassis. Prowl grabbed the medkit and applied a heat-free weld to the injury, a spherical hole that had punched neatly through Soundwave’s armor. Lancer’s doing, most likely. Prowl made a note to commend Lancer on her improved aim.

Soundwave relaxed, then had the nerve to lean into the touch like a domesticated turbofox. Prowl endeavored to ignore him. Ignoring Soundwave had never worked before, but _Primus_ he was tired. Not responding took significantly less energy than trying to string words together.

Thankfully, Soundwave was quiet as Prowl finished patching up his fuel tank. Prowl half-hoped the mech had slipped back into stasis,

By now, Prowl knew he wasn’t going to kill Soundwave, and hated himself for knowing it.

“You’d really join the Autobots.”

Soundwave laughed, and Prowl’s hands could feel the vibrations from Soundwave’s voicebox, lighter and gentler than anything he had felt in millenia.

“No.” Soundwave inclined his head, looking Prowl directly in the optics. Prowl applied another weld and snapped the remains of Soundwave’s chassis shut. Field repairs certainly weren’t his specialty, and he was _not_ going to call Ratchet or First Aid over here and get them involved in this...whatever this was.

Treason, probably, his mind helpfully supplied.   
“I can tell you one thing.”

Prowl wiped his hands off. He still needed to actually figure out what he was going to do with this idiot Decepticon.

“What.”

“If you had come to the Decepticons,” Soundwave sat up, and shook his head. “I never would have been captured.”

Prowl snorted out a laugh. Probably the first time he had laughed in millenia, too.

“You got that right.”

And then Soundwave just went and _leaned_ against him, quite easily pinning Prowl between the wall and his unconscious form. At least his hands were free, and he had quick access to the sidearm stowed in his leg. And there was no way Soundwave knew where the key to the cuffs was.

“Soundwave.” Prowl said. " _Soundwave.”_

* * *

  
He snapped back into awareness when his comlink chimed. It was dark.

The sun, already barely visible beyond the smoke, had obviously set some time ago.

And here Prowl was, practically spooning the _enemy,_ aka his Least Favorite Cybertronian.

Scrap.

Prowl sat up and accessed the alert.

Jazz. The Kimia attack had been all but confirmed, though _who_ would be leading the attack was still up in the air. Prowl keyed in a brief acknowledgement, and after a moment of hesitation, another glyph.

_Thanks._

He sent the message, then leaned back and sighed. Soundwave was a comfortable weight against his body. Soundwave’s fuel pump had stopped sputtering so obnoxiously. Now, it was a soft, almost soothing click, echoing in the quiet night. He was obviously unconscious--despite his reputation for stealth and deceit (and Prowl _still_ wasn’t sure if these weren’t just rumors misattributed to Soundwave--he had yet to see even an inkling of Soundwave having the ability be _quiet)._

“Primus, Soundwave,” Prowl muttered. Almost against his will, he reached down and brushed a hand over the injury. Soundwave’s body tensed, then relaxed, leaning into the touch. From this angle, he looked _almost_ peaceful: all smooth lines and pleasant warmth and--

Prowl stopped before he could follow that line of thought.

Exhaustion was getting to him. Now that the attack on Kimia was confirmed, he needed to contact Brainstorm and Perceptor and begin fortifying the station.

And _then_ he would figure out what to do about Soundwave.

* * *

  
Awareness came back to him slowly. He became aware of the warmth of the dim sunlight, the fine layer of ash, and the fact that _he_ was now the one cuffed.

Prowl sat up, wincing as a pinched nerve circuit protested being abruptly realigned. Soundwave was nowhere to be seen. Of course. Of course.

The key was on his desk. Prowl slid the cuffs off, and keyed in a message to the other Autobot commanders, warning them of a security breach and advising them to run any communications through a triple firewall. Soundwave hadn’t even bothered to take Prowl’s rifle.

Prowl picked up the Kimia report and cursed Soundwave’s name, then cursed each and every Prime he could think of offhand for good measure. All that data, all that intel, the best lead they’d had, was useless. Worse than useless. _Compromised._

All because Prowl hadn’t shot the mech on sight.

Prowl’s comlink chimed.

Soundwave hadn’t even bothered stealing the datapad. He _had_ erased the default image on the home screen, replacing the Autobot sigil with an image of Prowl in recharge, wrists cuffed and pinned above his head.

He erased the image, resisting the urge to just throw the whole datapad out the window, and checked his comlink.

 

_Told you the cuffs would look good on you._

_No need for a change in plans._

_Your secrets are safe with me :)_

_See you on Kimia._

_-S_

_“Primus,”_ Prowl said.

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.  
> You can find me on [the tumblrs](http://soundwavereporting.tumblr.com) if you'd like to send me prompts, anon hate, or just see me yell about Soundwave.  
> Thanks for reading :D


End file.
